You Smell Like Death
by Gypsy Dance and Broken Glass
Summary: A promise was kept, the morning Henry Fitzroy waited for sunrise.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Tanya Huff's incredible characters. Hopefully I have used them in a way she would deem fitting, and have returned them in good condition.

**Notes: **This is my first attempt at mentioning anything overtly sexual in my writing. It's tasteful, and certainly not raunchy, but if you don't go for that sort of thing, just skip over the italicized portions.

Feedback is treasured.

Less than three,  
Sammy

* * *

It was a cool morning, the grass covered in drew, sky turning pink at its very edges, as a man slowly made his was through the park. The few people who were there glanced at him curiously, for Henry Fitzroy had a presence that could not be ignored. The world was a hazy shade of rose, and the vampire pressed onward, his destination pictured clearly in his mind. He was tempted to move at the speed of sound to ensure he would be there in time, yet retained his sedate stroll as he held up a hand in apology while crossing traffic. 

He knew the city like he knew the back of his hand, like he knew every inch of Victoria Nelson, and soon enough he found himself on the outskirts of Toronto, a grassy knoll covered in gleaming marble headstones stretching out before him.

He tread the well-worn path to a less populated area near a gathering of trees, and found the place he had been looking for. He had spent most of his time there as of late, leaning against a tree, sketchpad in hand. Her face swam before him on the page as he doodled each evening, disappearing only when it became so close to dawn that he had no other choice.

He had risked a lot lately, but he had lost something unimaginable, wild abandon filling the void she had left. In the week since her death, Henry Fitzroy had been careless in his actions, staying out until the sun scorched him, killing three men in an alley three days ago, simply because he had no other way to release his anger, drinking blood from drug addicts and possible AIDS carriers.

But none of that would matter soon. In a few short moments he would be with her, and this cursed life would be no more.

Memories flooded back to him then, every memory the two had shared together, though one stood out amongst them all.

* * *

_"Henry," she whispered, her breath tickling his skin._

_"I'm here," he replied, climbing into the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her._

_They had stayed like that for long moments, Vicki's body pressed against his, his cheek resting atop hers, her hair blowing across his face as a breeze blew in through the open window._

_And then she turned to him, eyes alight with a passion he had never before seen. _

_"Kiss me," she breathed._

_There it was. Simply stated, she had finally let herself go, had accepted… this, whatever it was. How he had longed to hear those words, had longed to run his fingers through her hair, trail kisses down her neck, caress every inch of her alabaster skin._

_And there it was, his opportunity to do as he had only imagined, presented to him like a most treasured gift.  
_

* * *

Now, sitting on the damp earth beside her grave, knees bent in front of him, he let out something resembling a sigh. He could see the entire city of Toronto stretched out before him, could hear the unmistakable sound of horns beeping as both taxis and maniacal drivers tried to navigate the morning rush. So rarely had he witnessed this, unwilling to test the limits placed on him by his disability, so to speak. 

Mentally he ran through all the places that held strong ties to him and his love. The park he had already visited, the place where she had saved his life, where he had first tasted her blood; the place that had inexplicably bound them together forever. Earlier that week he had gone to the club where they had first crossed paths, only to find it abandoned. Henry had gone to the coffee shop they so often frequented, as well as Norman Bridewell's apartment. Feeling incredibly alone after her funeral a week ago, he had rewatched every movie they had seen together, and had gone so far as to order Chinese that he had left untouched; it just felt right to have it there, almost as if Vicki would show up at any moment and snap the chopsticks in two, ready to dig in. He had spent the previous night inside Vicki's old bedroom, the building long since having been boarded up. Strangely enough, he could still smell a faint trace of her perfume as he pressed his face into the pillow.

* * *

_Fingers mangled the satin sheets as Vicki squirmed beneath him, his teeth just grazing her stomach. His hands found her hair and he lost himself in the luxurious feeling as the strands cascaded through his fingers._

_She let out a tiny gasp as he pressed his lips to her throat, reveling in a scent that was entirely made up of Vicki. She smelled of desire, jasmine, and death, three scents Henry was incapable of ignoring. He could only assume she so often smelled of death because of the company she kept, but he found it enticing, as he had told her so long ago._

_"You smell of death," he whispered, and this time he felt her smile._

_She understood.  
_

* * *

Even now, her scent lingered. Death surrounded him in this place, yet he could still pick out the smell which was distinctly hers. 

He glanced down at the patch of earth beside him, still nothing more than a mound of dirt; grass had not yet begun to grow.

As he had every night, he now leaned a bouquet of jasmine against the headstone, trying to hold back his tears.

"Soon enough," he told himself. He would be with her soon enough.

Sunlight tickled the horizon, and Henry Fitzroy sat watching the sky turn blue. He could feel the earth warming beneath his feet, his skin tingling in the mounting light, and he wondered how long it would take for the warm breath of morning to reach him

"I'm afraid, Vic," he whispered, wishing he could grip her hand for comfort. "I know it's going to hurt. But is it a slow death? I don't want it to be slow."

He was surprised at how small his voice sounded, even to his own ears, for death, no matter at what age, was a topic decidedly unpleasant. And, five hundred years old or not, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, Vampire, Bastard, Prince of Men, Et Cetera, Et Cetera, was afraid.

* * *

_"I'm afraid," he heard her whisper, though her fingers continued to dance across his body, leaving his skin feeling as if it were on fire._

_"Of what, my love?"_

_She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Henry could almost see the wheels turning as she tried to fit this new aspect of their relationship into her worldview. _

_After a moment, she smiled._

_"Nothing anymore," she said quietly, and placed a hand on either side of his face, pulling him to her._

_The kiss they shared was unlike anything Henry had ever experienced. He had had passionate lovers, certainly, but they were nothing compared to the woman in his arms now. She was forceful and knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was him._

_Their lips melded together, tongues dancing around each other as the kiss deepened. Henry couldn't control it when his fangs descended, half-expecting Vicki to pull back, but it only egged her on. She ran her tongue along one, letting the point of it drag along her tongue as she ran her fingers through his hair, amazed still that his curls never seemed to get mussed, no matter the activity._

_And now he could feel her desire, not just sense it, and God did he want to do something about it. Clearly, Vicki did as well._

_He drew in something like a breath as her hand circled his member._

_"Are you sure?" he asked quietly._

_She nodded without hesitation._

_Feeling almost euphoric, Henry rolled on top of her and began to thrust.  
_

* * *

That feeling of completeness, of utter joy, spread through him now, warming the blood that lay dormant in his veins. 

"God, Vic," he murmured, the back of his hands beginning to blister. "I miss you."

_We'll be together soon, _the wind whispered, and Henry's chest swelled.

The sky was a vibrant blue now, and Henry's lungs began to burn as he lay down across Vicki's grave. The sun was nearly over the horizon.

* * *

_"Oh god, Henry," she cried, wrapping her legs around him as they both peaked._

_"I love you, Victoria," he whispered into her hair._

_"__I love you, too," she repeated, her words music to his ears, like water on a hot summer day, filling him up and leaving him content. _

_He could feel her smile against his chest, and as they lay trembling together, he could not have been happier.  
_

* * *

And suddenly the sun hung in the sky, and Henry had a brief glimpse of it before daylight took him. With a smile on his chiseled face, Henry Fitzroy, Vampire, was no more. All that remained was a small pile of ash that lay smoldering atop Victoria Nelson's tomb.

"No!" a voice cried as a shadow appeared over the rise.

The white marble stone sparkled in the morning light, and a familiar hand reached out to run a finger over the engraved words.

**R.I.P.**

**Victoria Anne Nelson**

**1977-2068**

"**Promises are meant to be kept."**

Coreen Fennel smiled sadly. Henry had certainly kept his promise.

**_Fin. _**


End file.
